


what you've got is gold

by keplcrs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, minor timeskip spoilers!, there isnt a lot happening here i just wanted domestic bkak for today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keplcrs/pseuds/keplcrs
Summary: It’s quiet, and bright, and Keiji curls up on the couch with his hands wrapped around one of the mugs that he and Koutarou had gotten as a housewarming gift from his older sister, wishing that he could live in this moment forever.Sitting in their messy apartment with a cup of coffee and one of Koutarou’s Black Jackals hoodies hanging loosely off of his shoulders— it’s everything that high school Keiji had hoped for.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 16
Kudos: 173





	what you've got is gold

**Author's Note:**

> happy bokuaka day!!!! this is my first contribution to haikyuu in like four whole years and i think it's about time i got something a little more pointlessly domestic on my ao3
> 
> title is from gold by owl city because that song is Peak Bokuaka Vibes

It isn’t often that Keiji is awake first.

Koutarou tends to wake with the sun, dropping kisses onto Keiji’s forehead as he clatters around their shared apartment and gets ready for his morning run, always with the promise of breakfast and coffee when he returns in an hour. It’s become something that Keiji has gotten used to— the hum of running water, the creak of their dresser drawers sliding open and shut, the gentle thumps of Koutarou’s footsteps as he scours the apartment for his keys— and it wakes him long enough to say a sleepy goodbye before the door shuts and he goes back to sleep until Koutarou returns with a tray of food or the promise of breakfast waiting on the table. It’s been their routine for a little over a year now, and it works wonderfully for Keiji.

He can’t say he minds the occasional deviation from routine, though.

It’s just past seven on a Sunday morning, the first day off he’s had in awhile. Koutarou had been travelling for a series of practice matches, and Keiji had used the time alone to get some extra work done, getting far enough ahead with his work that he could justify taking a few consecutive days off since Koutarou had gotten back earlier that week. He’d been exhausted by the end of it all, but it’s worth it, if only for the calm that he can allow himself now, with the sun filtering in through the window and filling the apartment with a golden glow. The bedroom door is open, Koutarou asleep in a tangle of blankets that he had rolled himself into as soon as Keiji had left the bed. His quiet snores and the rumble of the heat turning on are the only sounds in the apartment. It’s quiet, and bright, and Keiji curls up on the couch with his hands wrapped around one of the mugs that he and Koutarou had gotten as a housewarming gift from his older sister, wishing that he could live in this moment forever. 

Sitting in their messy apartment with a cup of coffee and one of Koutarou’s Black Jackals hoodies hanging loosely off of his shoulders— it’s everything that high school Keiji had hoped for. More than, actually, because high school Keiji would have never dared hope for more than what he’d already had. Bokuto Koutarou is a star and Keiji had been pulled into orbit around him, fully expecting to stay there— circling around him, unwilling and unable to break away altogether but never daring to get too close. He can still remember how distant it had felt, the idea of _more_ , and yet here he was, surrounded by everything to prove that ‘more’ hadn’t been as unattainable as he’d thought. 

There’s a stack of discs on the coffee table, game tapes borrowed from Atsumu and labelled with strips of masking tape and Keiji’s neat handwriting. There’s a post-it on the top disc, Koutarou’s familiar scrawl spelling out _‘give back to tsumu on tuesday!’_ and Keiji knows he’s going to be the one packing them into Koutarou’s bag on Monday night so he doesn’t forget on his way to practice. Beside it is Keiji’s laptop and a hastily-folded blanket, another note on top— _‘don’t even think about it! no working on ur day off!! <3’. _ This one isn’t a post-it, it’s a scrap of paper, torn from some piece of junk mail and haphazardly stuck to his laptop with a cheesy owl sticker that Keiji will add to the steadily accumulating collection of stickers on his laptop case once he’s finished with his coffee.

He briefly considers pulling up his email anyway, just to check it. It isn’t as if he’s got anything else to do while he waits for Koutarou to wake up, after all.

He finds his phone, trapped in between couch cushions from when he had fallen asleep on the couch the previous night. Keiji has just unlocked it and is refreshing his inbox when, as if on cue, he hears the squeak of the mattress and footsteps pattering down the hallway. There’s a brief pause and the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen, and then Koutarou’s head makes itself visible, hair mostly down and sticking out at odd angles where he had slept weirdly the night before. He looks much too tired for someone who regularly gets up at six-thirty to _run_ , although he suddenly seems much more awake at the sight of Keiji curled up on the couch in his sweater, and Keiji has to hide his smile behind his coffee mug.

“Mornin’, Keiji,” he says, dragging out the syllables of Keiji’s given name just as much as he’d done with his family one. Somehow, it doesn’t sound remotely stilted. “Did you eat yet? I’m gonna make breakfast, where’s the— hey! Hey, I said no working! I know you’re checking your email right now!”

Keiji snickers, putting his now-empty mug on the table and holding his hands up in surrender as Koutarou leaves the kitchen to snatch the phone away from him— ‘snatch’, in this case, meaning he pouts at Keiji and hovers a few steps away with an outstretched hand until he willingly hands it over. 

“No work talk today,” he says, playfully scolding even as he finally steps closer, and Keiji rolls his eyes as he stands up to steal his usual morning kiss. 

“Fine,” he agrees. “Don’t lose my phone, and if anyone calls—” which they won't, because the only person that Keiji calls instead of emailing is currently standing in front of him and holding his phone above his head as if Keiji can't just reach up and take it, "—I want it back."

Koutarou nods and pretends to cross his heart, and Keiji pretends his heart doesn't skip a beat at the sight. 

They linger there for a few extra minutes, trading kisses as Keiji sneakily tries to slide a hand up Koutarou’s arm and grab his phone, before Koutarou laughs and pulls away. "Hey," he chides, stretching up on his tiptoes to hold the phone higher.

“You really aren’t that much taller than me,” Keiji points out, arching an eyebrow and sidestepping Koutarou. “I can still reach it just fine.” 

He ignores his boyfriend’s protests and grabs his coffee mug, striding past him into the kitchen and smiling at the predictable sound of Koutarou’s footsteps behind him. “Keiji,” he whines, and he has four seconds to set the mug down in the sink before he’s caught in Koutarou’s embrace.

“Koutarou,” he says, mimicking his tone and grinning at the resulting protests. He’s still facing the sink, Koutarou warm against his back, so he washes the mug, tipping his head to let Koutarou’s chin rest on his shoulder. It’s cozy and domestic and Keiji takes his time, distracted by feather-light pecks being scattered across his cheeks. “You said something about breakfast?”

“Oh! Right, yeah!” A final kiss is pressed to his cheek, arms squeezing around his waist for a brief moment before Koutarou pulls away, buzzing around the kitchen behind him as Keiji finishes washing his cup. “You can head back out to the living room, if you wanna! Just relax, though— no emails. I’ll bring the food over and I _promise_ I won’t spill it.

He’s a bit of a whirlwind, and Keiji almost gets dizzy when he turns around to watch him, leaning against the sink instead of going back to the couch. It’s much more entertaining in the kitchen, after all.

Koutarou flicks on the radio and darts between cupboards and the fridge, singing along as if he’s completely forgotten that Keiji is still there. He hasn’t, of course— he stops for a kiss every time he passes by, and throws a pointed glance at Keiji over his shoulder whenever he belts out a particularly sappy line. Keiji looks at him, lit up by the morning light and not-subtly trying to coerce Keiji into dancing with him, and is hit with the warm realization that this is his normal, now. He doesn’t need to wish for these moments to last forever, not when he can get a new one every day— he can laugh as Koutarou butchers the words to a new song, washing a different mug because people keep getting them matching sets for holiday gifts, savoring moments that are just different enough to not blend together. 

He thinks about high school Keiji again, clinging to whatever moments he could get, too caught up in analyzing what he had to notice what had been right there all along. He thinks about how many more he holds onto now— not to analyze them, even if he’s still prone to doing so, but instead to just keep close to his heart.

The thought is sappy— it almost sounds like something that Koutarou would say. Seven years spent close to him have had their influence on Keiji, and he can’t find it in him to care.

He doesn’t plan on making a habit out of waking up so early— especially not when Koutarou goes on his runs— but, watching him cook and dance in their tiny, music-filled kitchen, spinning closer for kisses before returning to the stove… Keiji thinks it might be worth changing his routine a little bit to include this. 

**Author's Note:**

> if u liked this u can find me at [ejpraijin](https://ejpraijin.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and talk to me about bokuaka or the final arc or suna rintarou!


End file.
